


Beauty And His Beast

by roryheadmav



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, Nonconsensual, Slash, X-men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-06-23
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recently escaped from the Weapon X facility, Wolverine heads to New Orleans in search of the elusive young thief who had infiltrated the secret laboratory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BJ](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BJ).



> This is a story that I was working on last year, but which I intend to continue together with my other fic "Fraction of Truth" this year. This follows the events that were detailed in "Weapon X: First Class" and "X-Men Origins: Gambit". However, I somewhat got derailed after reading about Gambit's wedding to Bella Donna in "Origins", which was different from what I recalled from a past issue. Needless to say, I decided to borrow elements from both.
> 
> If and when I do eventually get to finish this story, this one will be for BJ, since she is the one who first read it. (An incentive for me to actually finish it.).

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

_It has been said that madness can grip a man's mind completely. All it would take is something that would trigger it.Deprivation and an overload of sensory stimuli are two such triggers. It certainly is no wonder that the most effective forms of torture are those that target the basic senses of human beings, especially sight, sound, taste and touch or – that particular favorite – pain. But rarely has the sense of the smell been documented as a trigger for mental deterioration._

_If he were still sane, he would have argued against the validity of this claim. He would have argued with such vehemence that he would have gone so far as to brandish his sharp claws to cow the other party to complete silence._

_The problem was he had completely lost his grip on sanity ever since that evening that he had gone berserk in that secret government facility in the remote Canadian wilderness. He had completely forgotten about the copious blood he had spilled and the millions of dollars that unknowing taxpayers had lost when he had rampaged through state-of-the-art scientific equipment._

_Everyone – especially those whom he had killed – would have been happier if he had stayed in restless slumber within the glowing soup of the glass pod. Even he would have been happier if he had just stayed sleeping, while his body adapted to the foreign metal substance that had been bonded to his bones._

_But no, he had to be awoken by – of all things – a scent. And it wasn't even the noxious scent of toxic chemicals or human excrement._

_It was actually a pleasant scent. Sweet and spicy, with a teasing whiff of fresh flowers blossoming in the warm morning sun, hot passion tempered with an almost child-like innocence._

_He awoke in an instant with only one thought in mind – to find the source of that delectable scent, to claim it, to make it his own. No matter the cost._

_Through the carnage and after, that thought ruled his entire being, so that it no longer was just a thought. It became an instinctual drive that must be satisfied. Sadly, however, he was met by sheer and utter disappointment. He never found the scent's source. But there were traces of its presence – the charred remains of a journal in the snow that should have reeked of evil, but was overpowered instead by the goodness emanating from the one who had last rifled through its pages. And there, partly buried in the snow, were several strands of silky, reddish brown hair. These strands he carefully gathered and collected inside a small corked vial, which he tied with a piece of catgut around his neck. Out of the ruins of the hidden laboratory that had been his prison, he had not needed to use his brain to make the simple decision to move on._

_He did not know how many years had passed since then. He did not know how many borders or statelines he had crossed or how many times he had made such crossings in pursuit of the elusive scent. He was virtually unaware that he had been crisscrossing an entire continent._

_With the simplicity of instinct of an animal, he journeyed onwards, keeping to the safety of dark woods, verdant fields and stinking alleys when he needed to rest. When he was hungry, he hunted or stole. When he felt cold, fluttering clotheslines provided him with the necessary garments. All else has lost meaning for him._

_Only the scent was important. The source of the scent must be found._

_And then, one day, a breakthrough! He finally found himself in a place where the scent was heaviest. The beauty of the estates of the Garden District was lost on him. So too, the lovely azaleas, hydrangeas and other exotic blooms that gave color and fragrance to the quaint gardens. The mouth-watering aroma of the hot spicy Acadian dishes wafting through the windows of homes and restaurants held no appeal for him._

_Only the scent mattered to him._

_In the days that followed, he wandered the streets of _ _New Orleans_ _. Through his aimless meanderings, he was able to learn more about the scent's owner. To his surprise, the scent's owner was male. He caught a whiff of it many times from the whores on _ _Bourbon Street_ _. Some "loyal patrons" – many of them, men – exuded with that same scent. _

_He wasn't too sure if he was happy about the fact that his quarry had been sowing his wild oats indiscriminately. Once he finds him, he had no intention of sharing him with anyone. None...at...all._

_Because of this, he intensified his search, often chasing after any auburn-haired male that catches his eye. But none of them proved to be the one he was searching for. As a result of his – to normal humans – bizarre behavior, he was often on the run from the law, so that he would hide away in a crude lean-to he had erected in the ruins of an old plantation in the bayou in the city's outskirts. To add to his misery, it happened to be rainy season and he was often drenched and shivering from the cold. Only his healing factor – and perhaps his precious charm around his neck, which he always gripped in his right hand close to his chest whenever he slept – prevented him from succumbing to pneumonia or worse. _

_It was one late evening, during a particularly heavy downpour. Unable to return to his makeshift house, he sat huddled between two stacks of crates in the alleyway behind a herbalist's shop. The backdoor was suddenly opened to reveal a diminutive Black woman with her hair tied up in dreadlocks. She wore a simple floral print dress, with beaded earrings hanging from her earlobes. It was obvious that he was the reason why she poked her head out of the door because her face brightened with a smile as her dark eyes alighted upon his hunched form._

_"Well, well, who'd ever thought I'd find ya here!" she exclaimed in sheer delight. "Like a mangy mongrel ya are, an' soppin' wet too. Bet de rain washed away all dem ticks and fleas, non?"_

_He let out a low growl. The woman spoke funny, but a small part of him that was still somewhat human resented being compared with a filthy mutt._

_The woman rapped him on the head with a soup ladle. As he whimpered and covered his head with his hairy arms, she wagged the cooking implement before his golden eyes and scolded, "Don' ya give me any o' yer sass, homme! Mattie ain't gonna put up with it. Yer like a wolverine – small an' ferocious. But now, ya're nothin' but a drenched pup." She waved him inside the shop. "I know ya're cold an' hungry. Let Mattie take care o' ya."_

_He looked at the woman's face and then at the open door with clear distrust. But the promise of food and warmth was an irresistible enticement. Slowly, he crept up to the door, not once breaking his gaze from the woman._

_Rolling her eyes upwards in exasperation, she gave him a swift kick in the behind, sending him sprawling inside the shop. "Get your butt in dere!"_

_Minutes later, he was bundled up in fluffy towels before the toasty fireplace, digging ravenously into a large bowl of gumbo. The spicy dish must have cleared up his clogged sinuses somewhat, and he sneezed, causing a drop of snot to hang from his right nostril, which he sniffed right back up into his nose. Sitting in a chair beside him, the woman named Mattie eyed him with fondness and amusement. Noticing the vial hanging around his neck, she reached for it._

_"What's dat ya got dere?" Before Mattie could touch it, however, he swatted her hand away, only to grab it back. Pressing her rough palm to her face, he sniffed it ferociously, even going up her arm to bury his nose in her armpit. There was no mistake; it was the scent all right._

_Although tickled by those breaths of air in her armpit, Mattie took advantage of his distraction to take his precious vial and look closely at the auburn strands inside, glinting like copper wires in the flickering flames of the fire._

_"So, I'm right 'gain. Ya are de one. An' stop doin' dat!" She rapped the top of his head, seeing that he was about to lift her skirt to sniff underneath. "Funny...I figured ya'd be taller." There was a low rumbling growl and she laughed. "Ya're right. Size don' matter if ya be de one for mon enfant."_

_Golden eyes blinked at her upon hearing those words. Child...his mother?_

_As if reading that question through the tumult that was his mind, Mattie replied, "Non, he not be o' ma blood, but e'en if I did not bear him in my womb, he be de precious chile in my heart. I can see dat he's special to ya too, de way ya hol' de copper strands o' his hair close to your heart. You've been searchin' for him fo' a verrrry long time."_

_Gripping his keepsake tenderly to his breast, sorrow and frustration must have crossed his craggy features because Mattie said next, "I know, I know. It be very hard to catch dat one. Like a hurricane, he is. One minute, he's here. De next, he be halfway across de world. No surprise dere. He's de Prince o' de Thieves Guild after all. But you're in luck, homme, 'coz he's back in N'Awlins, just arrived from gay Paree. Tomorrow, he'll be weddin' his fille Bella Donna, an' de Thieves and Assassins Guilds will be united at last._

_He looked straight at Mattie then, a stricken expression on his face. That small part of him that was still human understood the word 'wedding'. His quest had come to an end. The one whom he sought for so long would never be his._

_Mattie's warm hands cupped his face, her thumb brushing away the teardrop that formed at the corner of his left eye. "Mais Mattie knows things. De Fates...dey be cruel to a lovin' heart. Dey got plans dat will begin tomorrow. Real bad plans. It's no' enough dat dey made him suffer as a chile. Now dat he's a grown man, dey want him broken, both in heart an' soul. Mais you...Mattie saw you clear as de mornin' sun in her visions. De ties o' destiny bind ya, an' dey be strong, almost unbreakable. Perhaps you an' he...are soulbound?" She gave his cheeks a determined squeeze. "Tonight, ya sleep here. Tomorrow, ya follow ol' Mattie's scent. She'll take ya to de one ya been searchin' for. Protect my Remy, ya hear me. Take care o' him, as you've cherished dose silk strands o' his red hair. An' maybe...jus' maybe...he'll give his heart to ya."_

_Mattie's voice was soft, almost hypnotic. He did not understand everything she said, except for the only thing that truly mattered. _

_"Protect Remy."_

_Now, he had a name to go with that alluring scent._

_Yawning, he stepped onto the floor and curled up in an exhausted ball. As the crackling flames of the fireplace lulled him into sleep, only one thought ran in an endless loop inside his mind._

_"Protect Remy...must protect Remy...Remy."_

 

It was supposed to be a perfect day for a wedding. The sun was shining overhead, showering down her sparkling blessings through her glorious sunbeams. The flowers in bloom in the garden outside the small chapel would have complimented the beauty of the blushing young bride and her equally handsome groom.

So how did this – what should have been the happiest day in his eighteen years of life so far on this earth – suddenly turn into a horrible nightmare?

Remy LeBeau continued to breathe heavily, the adrenaline still coursing like high-octane fuel through his body. In his hand, he gripped a bloodied rapier. Of the dagger he had earlier held in his other hand, there was no trace of it on the lifeless form of the man at his feet. From the charred, gaping maw of what had been the deceased's left breast, a pulsating red stream gushed down on the marble floor, edging slowly towards his foot.

Yes, he remembered. The one who had ruined his wedding day had a name. Julien Boudreaux, brother of his stricken wife Bella Donna, who – in a jealous rage at losing his beloved sister to a thief – challenged to a duel the man whom she had exchanged vows with only a few minutes ago.

"Julien...ya connard..." Remy muttered in anger at the dead man on the floor through gritted teeth. The murderous urge was still strong. He wanted to stab and slash the carcass of the deranged man again and again with his sword. He wanted to make sure that he was dead, that he wouldn't rise up to torment him and his new bride.

What stopped him were the sharp sword tips and knife blades, and gun muzzles of the members of the Assassins Guild in attendance. Seeing their Prince threatened so, the men of the Thieves Guild raised their weapons at their furious adversaries.

Marius Boudreaux, Patriarch of the Assassins Guild, approached him, his face as hard as stone but with eyes ablaze with the rage of a grieving father. With trembling hand, he lifted the sharp point of his sword to Remy's heaving bare chest.

"Remy LeBeau..." he growled, low and sinister. "Ya call dis travesty a duel? Ya murdered my son!"

Before Remy could reply, his adoptive father Jean-Luc LeBeau came between them, swatting Marius' sword away with his own blade. "It did no' look like murder to me, Marius Boudreaux. Your son challenged my Remy to an honorable duel, an' yet he resorted to tricks to try to gain de upper hand. If mon fils used his mutant powers, it's not deliberate an' out o' ill will. He has been havin' problems controlling dem of late. Mais, if he hadn't ended up chargin' his dagger, I'm certain that he still would've won fair an' square. Assassins are never known for deir fair play."

"You dare to insult me?" Marius' voice rose to a menacing pitch.

It was an angry Bella Donna's turn to speak up. "Jean-Luc's words are not insult, mais de truth, mon pere. Julien brought dishonor to our Guild with his unnatural affections for me, an' now in his shameful attempt to bring my husband down. Although it's no' worthy of a salaud like him, Remy gave him an honorable death."

"Look at his mangled body, Belle, an' tell me where's de honor here? What about a pere's grief for his only son? Shall I have no recompense for my loss?" Marius railed at his daughter and Jean-Luc, the tears he was struggling to hold now pouring down his face. "Remy is no' even your son by blood! What would you 'ave done if it were your true son Henri in Julien's place and now lying dead? Wha' would you say den, Jean-Luc LeBeau?"

"Wha' would Jean-Luc LeBeau do? Is dat what you're askin', Father-in-law?" Remy's soft voice interrupted them as he approached the two older men. "Pourquoi, he would do wha' is right." Falling to one knee, he bowed his head and lifted the bloody sword up to his father. "Pere, I offer no excuses. Julien shouldn't have died. I should've been in control o' my powers. I humbly submit myself to yours an' de Guild's judgment. Do with me as ya see fit...for I 'ave indeed killed de son of de Assassins Guild's Patriarch."

Jean-Luc was taken aback by his adopted son's unexpected words that, at first, he was caught speechless. Bella Donna, on the other hand, was shocked. Instantly, she dropped to her knees beside her husband, not minding that the hem of her wedding dress was being soaked in her brother's blood.

"Remy...mon amour..." Her voice was shaking with emotion. "Ya don' know what you're sayin'. Julien's death...it's not your fault. He brought it on himself."

"Mais murder is still murder, Belle," Remy countered with deep regret. "No matter what he'd done, it don' change de fact dat he's still your brother, your Pere's son. De last thing I wanted was to hurt you or Marius. Out of respect to your Pere, I shouldn' 'ave accepted Julien's challenge, knowin' dat I couldn' control my chargin' power."

"Mais if ya hadn't den Julien would've killed ya!" Belle could no longer hold back her tears. "Remy, s'il vous plait. Don't do this to us!"

Sadly, Remy caressed his lovely wife's face. "Je suis desole, mon couer. Mais, I must do what's right." He nodded to Marius, who took his weeping daughter away. Remy then turned to his father expectantly. Jean-Luc was conferring with the elders of the Guild. Henri, who had been listening in, suddenly turned away. Unable to face his younger brother, he instead covered his face with his gloved right hand, but the limb was unable to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks.

With heavy heart, Jean-Luc drew near to his beloved son and picked up the bloody rapier. "Remy LeBeau..." he began, his trembling voice loud and clear so that everyone could hear what he was going to say. "For de crime of de murder of Julien Boudreaux, it is de judgment o' de Guild dat ya be exiled forever from N'Awlins. If ya dare to set foot in dis fair city ever again, ya shall be hunted to de death by thieves and assassins alike."

"NON!" Belle let out a keening wail at the horrifying realization that she would lose the man she loved forever.

For Marius and the assassins, however, the judgment was not enough.

"Exile? Exile!" Marius sputtered. With sword raised, he charged at Remy's kneeling figure. "A life for a life is what I say!"

Before he could slash down upon the thief, there was a mighty roar as something crashed through the stained glass window depicting St. Michael. A small but heavy figure landed on the floor and swiftly headed their way. Marius was barely able to escape from the sharp claws that nearly tore open his belly.

And then, there was nothing but utter chaos, with a confused Remy LeBeau caught right smack in the middle.

Although a man of action, at that particular moment, Remy was frozen on the spot where he knelt, watching with slowly widening demon eyes at the carnage that was unfolding before him. Assassins closed in upon the wild stranger, only to be slashed to ribbons by sharp claws. One man dared to go near the stunned thief, only to find himself gutted in the belly, a warm spray of blood, spattering Remy's face. Seeing that the fierce warrior was on their side, the thieves jumped into the fray with murderous glee, only to find themselves being attacked as well by the enraged marauder.

"Non...don'..." Remy muttered, shaking his head, as memory brought back a very similar scene from the recent past.

A hidden laboratory in the Canadian Rockies...a mission to retrieve a scientist's stolen journal...a shocking discovery of human experimentation...imminent capture...salvation in the form of a fierce angel with sharp metal claws...the same angel who was now slashing his foes.

"Non...no' an ange..." Remy mumbled, remembering what this rampaging angel was called. "Weapon X!"

Hands urgently gripped his arm and he saw that it was Belle. "Remy, come on!" she urged in panic, trying to tug him along. "While dey're distracted, let me take ya away from here!"

There was a horrified scream as a thief – one of his uncles – fell to the ground bleeding before them. Remy knew what was happening. Weapon X could no longer discern friend from foe.

"Belle, listen to me," Remy faced his frightened wife. "Take both our fathers. Gather all de remaining men an' hide. I'll take care o' him."

"QUOI? Remy, are ya mad? De man's a monster! He'll kill ya!"

He cupped her face in his desperate hands. "With dis judgment o' exile, I'm already as good as dead." Remy leaned forward and savored his wife's honeyed lips for the last time. "Je t'aime, mon couer!"

"REMY, NON!"

Not heeding her cry, Remy rushed towards a terrified Father Legrange and snatched the deck of playing cards he had entrusted out of the old priest's gnarled hands. He ran towards the rampaging Weapon X – who was about to lunge at the small band of men with his father and Marius at the fore – and hurled three charged cards.

The explosion blinded Weapon X for a moment, giving Remy a chance to shout at Jean-Luc. "Father! Get everyone out o' here!" As his father hurried away with the other men, Remy stood determinedly before his furious angel. "Dat's quite enough, Monsieur. It seems to dis ole Cajun dat I'm de one ya're really interested in." He spread out some charged cards in his hands like glowing fans. "If it's a fight ya want, I'm ready for ya."

For a few seconds, Weapon X did not move. Remy swore that he actually saw hesitation flit through that fierce visage. Weapon X straightened up, arms dropping to his sides, as he breathed a heavy sigh. Then, he charged swiftly towards the Cajun. Remy threw the cards at the mutant, but Weapon X easily dodged them, zipping to the left and then to the right. In the blink of an eye, Weapon X stood before him, nostrils flaring as he gazed up at the taller man.

Remy heard Bella Donna scream as a hard fist was driven into his belly. Blackness overwhelmed him as he crumbled into the crook of the mutant's arm and lifted over a brawny shoulder.

His last thought held a tinge of relief and amusement. _Je vais bien, Belle. He did no' skewer me with his claws._

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

 

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Remy LeBeau never knew who his birth mother was. But he would always see her in his dreams as a graceful, willowy figure strolling in a lavish garden of red anthuriums. She would tilt her head up to gaze at the stately mansion behind her, causing her auburn hair to fly in the summer breeze. He would be standing at the gateway to the mansion, just watching her with fond longing, knowing with absolute certainty that he did not belong in her world. Already, he could feel an unmistakable pull. He knew that if he were to look behind him, he would see a field of thick, tall grass, skirting the dark, green cypresses which led into the bayou._

_"Viens, mon fils!" his mother would beckon to him with a wave of her hand. "Look at all dese beautiful flowers! Dey're even de same color as your eyes!"_

_Remy wanted to walk with her in that lush garden. If he would only reach out his hand, he could touch the tip of a rough but golden spadix with his finger._

_Yet, his arms would always remain fixed at his sides and he would give her the same excuse, "Desole, Maman! I cannot. De flowers...dey'll be ruined if I..."_

_His attention would be drawn again toward the bayou, where the wind had suddenly died down, so that the entire area was as still as death. Or, maybe not. Deep within the woods, there were signs of a disturbance – leaves being rustled, branches and twigs cracking. Remy gasped in horror as a dark lumbering shadow crashed through the trees and into the grass. From those dark green fronds, he heard unmistakable sniffing sounds._

_"Stay dere," Remy muttered fearfully. "Just stay dere."_

_It was a mistake to speak for the thing that was hidden in the grass heard his frightened entreaty. There was a soft whoof, and the creature bounded his way, visible as a dark line being drawn in the field as the grass was bent in its passage. With terrified screeches, birds took off into the sky to avoid getting crushed or eaten. _

_Eaten...where did that terrifying thought come from?_

_As the distance between them grew shorter and shorter, he could hear the rough panting, and yet he could never make out what it was, since it was hidden deep among the grass._

_It stopped just a few feet from the edge of the field, a dark round depression in the grass from which low growls emanated. Any second now, Remy knew it would spring upon him._

_"Remy? Qu'est-ce que c'est? Why do you hesitate? Venez vous joindre à votre mère."_

_"Maman, I can't!" his voice was close to panic from sheer terror. He dared not move an inch. If he did, he knew his mother's life would be in jeopardy._

_His mother tilted her head in his direction, seeing the cause of her fear. Her lilting laughter was like wind chimes._

_"Oh, mon fils! Dere is nothing to be afraid of! Why don't ya bring him along?"_

_"Non, Maman! He mustn't!" Remy could feel his tears trickling from his eyes. Why won't his mother understand that their lives were in danger? "He doesn't belong here! **I** don't belong here!" _

_"Why do ya say dat, fils? Of course de two of you belong here. Regarder. Even he knows dat."_

_Remy never felt the creature's approach. He never knew that it was already crouched at his feet. As he looked down, he was stunned to see golden eyes staring back up at him._

 

 

Warm drops falling on his cheek roused Remy from his disturbing dream. As he sluggishly opened his crimson eyes, he could make out a rushing sound all around him. He blinked once, twice to clear his vision.

"Oh! It's raining," he murmured wearily, seeing big fat raindrops pouring on some nearby bushes and trees. Rain water was creating streaks on the trunk of a small tree just near his face. His still sleep-fogged mind brought him back to an earlier passionate moment in the bayou. "Belle, cher. De rain is a bit heavy. Everyone must be worried about us back at de church."

Sudden awareness jolted Remy back to reality. The church...the wedding...Belle...the duel...exile...Weapon X...

Another warm drop fell on his cheek. With dread growing inside his heart, Remy turned his head to look above him. His breath caught in his throat.

The man known as Weapon X was on his hands and knees on top of him. What the Cajun had earlier mistaken for a tree was actually his arm. Weapon X was covering him from the rain that trickled through the holes on the worn canvas of a crude lean-to. But the wetness on his cheek did not come from the rain.

Tears were streaming from Weapon X's eyes as he gazed down at Remy. A bright, toothy smile of relief cracked the man's craggy face. It was so painfully human, totally devoid of artifice and malice that it tugged at Remy's heart.

Before he could utter a single word, Weapon X yanked him up to a sitting position. Remy's eyes were as round as saucers as his dubious rescuer began sniffing him all over, frantic hands searching for any injuries. It was only then that the Cajun became conscious of the fact that he was shirtless.

"Non!" he cried, shoving the other man off him. Remy crab-walked backwards out of the lean-to and into the rain, the knit of his socks tearing on the twigs and pebbles at his feet. He couldn't even remember when he had lost his shoes. A sharp exhale was forced out of his lips when his back hit a broken wall.

Remy knew he had made a mistake, seeing Weapon X crouched at the opening of the lean-to. The anger emanating from the man held him frozen in place. Now he knew what it felt like to be a little creature caught by the golden glare of a ravenous predator.

"Desole, Monsieur," Remy stammered. "It was rude of me to do dat, after ya saved my life an' all. I...I wish I could repay ya for your kindness and courage. Mais, as you probably know by now, I've been exiled from de Guild an' N'Awlins." Those words were like daggers through his heart as the truth of his predicament hit home. "I...I have nothin' now, Monsieur. Nothin'!"

Weapon X remained silent, just watching him. Remy was not even sure if the man had understood what he said.

The Cajun pulled his legs close to his body, planning to make a quick break for it. "I...I have to be goin' now, Monsieur. It would do ya well to stay away from me. From now on, I'm a hunted man an' I don't want you to get involved in my problems an'..."

Weapon X didn't give any sign that he was going to move. Not even a tensing of a muscle. One second, he was at the lean-to. The next, he was leaning over the Cajun, his brawny arms propped on the wall, effectively trapping the younger man between them.

"What do you want from me, homme?" Remy exclaimed in frustration. "I told ya I have nothin' to give ya! Have I wronged ya in some way? Did someone order ya to come after me? If you're here to kill me, den do it! I've lost my family, my dearest Belle! I have nothin' more to live for! If you're goin' to kill me, do it now!"

Whatever else the Cajun was going to say came out as a harsh exhalation as Weapon X drew him into a crushing embrace. His breath was ragged, his voice coming out only as whines and whimpers. He squeezed Remy tightly, as though he were trying to force the will to live out of his hairy breast and into the younger man's heart.

The confusing maelstrom of emotions emanating from Weapon X was battering at Remy's shields. Again, he asked, "What do ya want from me?"

For a while, Weapon X just held him, his hands running up and down the Cajun's back in a soothing rhythm. Despite himself, Remy found his own arms rising to enfold the troubled man. Then, Weapon X lowered his head, sniffing and nuzzling at the join between neck and shoulder, fingers running through the younger man's soft auburn hair.

_More animal than human,_ the Cajun mused, patiently allowing the other's careful explorations. _Reminds me of a puppy I once had. Always sniffin' my skin, tuckin' his head on my shoulder, an'..._

Remy's thoughts immediately deserted him as his nipple was drawn into a hard, deep suck.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Remy had raised his hand and slapped Weapon X fiercely on the left cheek. A chill crawled up his spine as he inched backwards from the older man, whose face remained turned away, the slap mark on his cheek slowly fading.

"Desole, Monsieur X!" What the hell should he call this monster? "I didn't mean to do dat! You...you surprised me. What ya did...it don' mean nothin', oui?"

The answer he got was a snarl of fury, as Weapon X whipped his head to glare at him, golden eyes ablaze.

Remy let out a surprised cry when Weapon X seized his ankle. Acting instinctively, his hands curled around fistfuls of earth and pebbles and charged them. He threw it at Weapon X, exploding on the man's face. Blinded and in pain for a moment, the feral clawed at his face, bellowing in rage.

The Cajun made to flee, but Weapon X dove for him, strong arms wrapping around his waist. Off-balance, Remy's forehead cracked against the wall, and he fell face first to the ground, dazed.

Remy barely felt the other man straddle him, the sharp claws snapping out of his knuckles. He couldn't even react when Weapon X slashed through his pants, creating bleeding cuts on the skin underneath. What did force him to ignore the pain and the vertigo in his head was the feel of callused hands gripping his hips and jerking his bare ass upwards.

"Non! Don't do dis!" Remy twisted his body in order to break free. But in doing so, he found himself gaping at the raw burned flesh that Weapon X's face had become.

Seeing the look of horror and disgust in the younger man's eyes, Weapon X buried his fingers in the thick auburn hair and slammed the Cajun's head back down on the ground, effectively pinning him.

Remy was gripped by frustration and rage at his helplessness. All he could do was pound his fists on the ground again and again as Weapon X mounted him eagerly.

"Non! Arretez!" he shouted as he struggled to dislodge the heavier man off him. "I will not be fucked like an animal! Ya hear! I will no'... AAAAHH!" His anguished scream was drowned out by the sound of the merciless rain, which did nothing to ease the passage of a hard, thick member that pounded like a piston inside his ass.

"Arretez! Stop, s'il vous plait!" the Cajun cried, as his face was pushed into the mud with every thrust. His body was rocked with such force that he thought his back would break. "Don't do dis to me! Please! Not like dis! Not like an animal!" So humiliating, so degrading. Like he was reduced to nothing more than a slab of meat.

The shock and sheer surrealness of his situation caused the Cajun's mind to wander, to escape from the horror of the present.

In the days before he was to be joined to his beloved, Remy had this romantic fantasy. Right after the priest's blessing, he would sweep Belle into his arms and whisk her away from all the guests and well-wishers at the church. They would ride on horseback, heading for their secret rendezvous spot in the bayou, where they would relish the first sweet hours of their union.

How could his wonderful fantasy have gone so terribly wrong? Instead of Belle, it was he who was whisked away by the most questionable of rescuers in Weapon X, the man whom last he saw was pureeing some soldiers in a secret government facility. He could not even call what was being done to him now as "romantic".

A tear trickled from Remy's eye as he felt the thrusts renew its driving pace. Hadn't the man come twice already? The fullness in his ass and in his lower belly was telling him that. It has been so long since he last felt like trash, a long forgotten time when he had used his body in order to survive when pockets and wallets were lean for the pickings. When Jean-Luc LeBeau adopted him, he swore to himself that no lover would suffer abuse from his hands.

Tearing pain shot through his ass and lower back in agonizing contradiction to that last thought, so that for a moment, all he could see was red. When that bright color of pain faded to give way to lesser but still throbbing aches, what he saw was the very still form of a beautiful woman lying on a Paris street, her head drenched with blood from the impact with the pavement.

No...how could he forget about her! Genevieve Darcenaux... After her, other faces came to mind – women and men – whom he had manipulated with his Charm. Even Candra – the evil immortal mutant who had lorded over both the Thieves and Assassins Guilds – had not been spared.

The Cajun's hands closed into fists. _Is dat why...dis...is happenin' to me now? Am I bein' punished for all dose people I had used with my Charm? I've been callin' it seduction. Mais, it was nothin' more dan a pretty word for rape! Mon Dieu! Poor Genevieve! It's because of me that she's dead!_

Remy felt the man behind him shudder as he came for what seemed like the fifth time. Despite this, Weapon X was still very, very hard, like a blunt club jammed up his ass. He wondered if his Charm was influencing this tortured human being's sexual drive.

With a grunt, Weapon X flipped Remy over onto his back, their bodies still joined. Weary in body and soul, all the Cajun could do was whimper as he flopped bonelessly on the sodden ground. Again, those hands were gripping his hips, lifting them high.

"S'il vous plait, Monsieur." Remy forced his head back so that he could look at Weapon X, whose face was now healed except for a few scars. To his own ears, never had his voice sounded so weak, so broken. "I will not stop you from doin' dis to me, because I know I deserve to be punished like dis. Mais...a little rest? Allow me to recover, even for a few minutes. Den you can have me again. Je vous en prie, Monsieur X? Please?"

 

 

_His entire being was engulfed by blind fury. He had been searching for the one he would claim for his mate for so long. He had suffered so much, endured hunger and thirst, survived seemingly endless hardships and abuse from people who did not understand his noble cause. And what was his just reward, after he had even saved his mate's life from those who wanted to kill him? A slap to the cheek and a blast which nearly took off his head! _

_All he could think about was to punish the man in his arms, to put him in his place. To show him who, between the two of them, was the alpha male._

_But then, he found himself staring into those tear-filled demon eyes. And what about those strange entreaties, "I will not stop you...A little rest...Please?"_

_It was at that moment that he really looked at the state of the young man he had claimed, his shocked golden eyes taking in the bruises that marred the pale skin, the flecks of blood and come on those long legs. Blood that also dripped from the length of his still painfully hard erection, which was still urging him to take the boy before him._

_His poor, broken Remy..._

_With a roar of anguish, he tore himself away from the younger man. Letting his claws pop out, he let the sharp blades slash at his lower body, slicing the flesh of his inner thighs and nearly severing his member. Again and again, he drove his claws down, trying in vain to cow his burgeoning erection into submission. In his frustration, he was about to rip the thing off from his crotch._

_A hot body pressed against his back and hands closed around his wrists. A voice like warm sunshine said hoarsely, "What do you think you're doin', homme? Stop hurtin' yourself! S'il vous plait! Not on my account!"_

_His breath came in ragged pants as he slowly retracted his claws. Seeing himself still hard, despite the wounds on his cock, he bent over and covered his shame with his hands._

_Graceful fingers tried to pull his hands away. "Non, Monsieur. Let me take care of dat for you, oui? Let Gambit tame dis feisty thing."_

_His eyes widened in shock as Remy straddled his hairy thighs, his battered opening poised to take in his length._

_With a cry, he wrapped his arms around the younger man and settled him down on his lap instead. _

_"It's all right, Monsieur X", Remy whispered reassuringly, a heartbreaking smile on his full lips. His hands caressed the healing scars on his face. "I understand. I need dis just as much as you."_

_He did not comprehend all that the Cajun had said, but he sensed the undertone of the words. The desire to be hurt, to be punished for transgressions. And, yet, earlier, that first time he had taken him, what was it that Remy said to him?_

"I WILL NO' BE TAKEN LIKE AN ANIMAL!"

_In reply to the young man's invitation, he shook his head. Instead, he drew Remy into a tender embrace, gingerly brushing his mouth against those full lips._

 

 

Remy felt his breath catch in his throat at that tentative kiss. So sweet, so full of longing, so needy.

Before the older man could move away, Remy flung his arms around him, drawing him even closer. Weapon X breathed out a sigh of gratitude, as he continued his lingual ablutions, letting his lips rain gentle kisses upon that flushed, beautiful face, inching down to that long graceful neck. His hands kneaded the firm mounds of the Cajun's chest.

Remembering Weapon X's not-so-subtle hint earlier, Remy lay down on the wet grass, pulling his feral lover on top of him. Carding his fingers through that thick ebony mane, he urged the older man to lower his head so that his mouth hovered above a taut nipple. Weapon X readily took the teat between his lips, nipping and suckling upon it like a babe. Remy shuddered as his lover took his other nipple, nibbling upon it with his teeth.

Spreading his legs, Remy reached down to grasp the man's erection, which was poking at his navel. Before he could push it inside him, Weapon X's hand closed around his, willing his fingers to loosen their grip. Instead, he took both their members in his large palm and began to stroke.

Remy trembled all over as he felt himself growing hard. The friction of hand and cock against his own length and lips suckling with urgency upon his breast drove all thought from his mind. All he could do was to surrender himself to the passions that Weapon X was arousing in him.

Both men came at the same time, their juices spurting copiously, mixing on their pressed bellies. Spent at last, Weapon X collapsed wearily on top of the younger man, his breaths warm upon his abused teat.

It was only then that Remy noticed that the rain had stopped. It would've been the perfect time for the Cajun to escape. With Weapon X exhausted from their coupling, he was in no condition to give chase, even with his obvious healing factor. Despite the tenderness of their last joining, his body could not let him forget the terrible rapes it had endured earlier.

But then, Weapon X mumbled one word, one painful word before he fell into deep slumber.

"Sorry."

Remy closed his eyes and sighed. His father had always chided him for his random acts of redemption. Acts which serve as expiation for his past sins. Acts which he would later come to regret doing.

Condemning his soul to whatever it was the cruel fates had in store for him, Remy gently eased Weapon X onto the ground beside him and held him in a tender embrace.

"Je vous pardonne, mon ami. I forgive you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> 1\. Viens, mon fils! – Come, my son!  
> 2\. Qu'est-ce que c'est? – What is it?  
> 3\. Venez vous joindre à votre mère.  
> 4\. Regarder. – Look.  
> 5\. Arretez! – Stop!  
> 6\. Je vous en prie! – I'm begging you


	3. Chapter 3

 

**CHAPTER THREE**

_Remy knew that he should expect nasty surprises in his dreams. But the sight of Weapon X crouched at his feet made him jerk a step away, a very wrong move considering the unpredictable nature of the beast man._

_To his credit, however, Weapon X made no sudden moves to attack. He just peered up at Remy through those golden eyes. As if nothing had happened, he proceeded to scratch his sideburns, those thick fingers descending to a suspicious-looking dark mark on the right side of his neck._

_"Didn't ya give him a bath, mon fils?" _

_Remy's head whipped around to his mother, who was kneeling in the middle of the garden, pale slender fingers covering her giggles. "Dat ain't funny, Maman! He's a man! He ain't no pet!"_

_But still, there was something strangely...endearing...about the way Weapon X rubbed industriously on the mark on his neck. If the older man wasn't so dirty, he wanted to give in to the urge to hug him._

_Despite his fears, Remy found himself mumbling to the feral, "Whatcha been doin' in de bayou, homme? Ya look like you've been rollin' around in de swamp."_

_"I could say de same about you, mon fils," his mother readily countered, overhearing his mumble. "You're just as dirty as yer...friend."_

_"He's not my friend!" Remy retorted, only to see that he was in the same sorry state as Weapon X. Grimy, blades of grass clinging to his hair and clothes, as if he too -- in his very own words -- had been rolling around in the swamp._

_"Oh?" his mother began questioningly. "Then why don't ya tell me who he is to ya?"_

_That query took Remy aback. "He is...he's my..." But the answer proved elusive._

_Confused, he stared down at the feral again, noting the metal protrusions on Weapon X's knuckles from which those formidable claws extruded. _

_"Mon fils, who is he to you?" his mother repeated her question._

_The most obvious answer was to say that Weapon X was a product of a fiendish experiment in a hidden military facility in the Canadian _ _Rockies_ _. Another good answer would be that Weapon X had been his angel -- albeit a ferocious one -- who had unknowingly saved him when he was about to be apprehended by the guards for infiltrating the secret complex. _

_But Remy knew that neither of those two answers would be the right one. _

_Oblivious to the younger man's quandary, Weapon X was craning his neck this way and that, his lips pinched in a pout, as blunt fingertips plucked at the dark mark as though he could peel it off his skin._

_Remy frowned as his red on black eyes were drawn toward that mark. That mark...it looked like..._

_It was then that Weapon X noticed the intense stare that the Cajun was giving him. Before Remy could react, the older man licked the back of his left hand._

_"Non!" Remy yelled sharply, making to pull his hand away. _

_The gesture must have appeared to Weapon X as the precursor to a punishing blow. Before Remy could withdraw his hand completely, Weapon X opened his mouth wide and clamped down on the Cajun's fingers._

 

 

Remy woke up with a frightened gasp, his hand cradled to his chest. The dream was so real. He could still feel the pressure of teeth on his fingers. For several minutes, he just lay on his back, staring up at the holes of the lean-to, waiting for his mind to fully awaken.

What brought him back to reality was the steady throbbing of the aches of his body. Remy tried to sit up, only to cry out and quickly lie back down as pain shot through his lower back originating from his ass. There was also an aching fullness in his belly.

Laying his right arm over his eyes, Remy mumbled, chuckling hysterically, "Oh, yeah! I remember now. Weapon X...he...he..." Unable to bring himself to complete his sentence, he took a long, deep breath, only to exhale in shuddering pants. A stray tear trickled from under his arm.

He'd completely forgotten how it felt to be treated like a piece of meat.

_Why are dese things happenin' to me?_ Remy pondered, his body hitching with his silent sobs. _Am I only entitled to bits o' happiness? What did I do to deserve dis?_

Gingerly, the Cajun turned on his side and carefully eased himself up to a half-sitting, half-leaning position, letting the banana fronds that covered him to slip down to his lap. He laid his hand over his lower belly, thankful at least that he did not possess the necessary anatomical parts to conceive. But still, noting his state of undress, he didn't want to appear as a tempting dish. Taking his ripped trousers, he wrapped it around his groin like a crude loincloth, the remains of a pants leg hanging loose at his right hip, escaping every attempt to tuck it in at his waist.

A pale dawn sunbeam pierced through one of the lean-to's small holes, causing something in the corner to flash. Remy reached for it, wincing as his back screamed in protest. As he drew back his hand, he found himself staring down at a pair of dog tags and a tiny bottle tied with a cord.

"Wolverine..." the Cajun read aloud the name that was etched on the dog tags.

Despite what was done to him, pity pinched Remy's heart for the man who had abused him. Whoever those scientists who had tortured him with their experiments were, they didn't even have the decency to give him a real name.

"No wonder he is more animal dan human," the Cajun mused sorrowfully.

Then, his eyes fell upon the vial and an icy chill went up his spine, as he recognized those silk auburn strands inside as his own.

Dread gripped his entire being and Remy gasped in horrified realization. "Am I de reason dat he's here? Has he been trackin' me all dis time all de way from Canada? Mais pourquoi?"

Remembering the rapes he had endured, Remy was seized by sheer terror. Ignoring the complaints of his body, he crawled out of the lean-to and hurriedly limped into the swamps, almost stumbling over a rock hidden in the grass.

"I ain't stayin' here a minute longer!" the Cajun stammered in panic, as he pushed back bushes and tree branches in his path. "I don' wanna know what he wants from me! I ain't gonna let him touch me again!"

Remy froze dead in his tracks as an animal roar erupted from the place where he came. Then, this was followed by the sound of something heavy crashing through the brush, along with unmistakable sniffing sounds.

Weapon X -- no, Wolverine -- was tracking him down.

Although terrified by what Wolverine might do to him for daring to run away, Remy's mind was trying to figure out a way to get the man off his tail.

If the feral was tracking him by his scent...

The Cajun hurried to the river which he knew was nearby. Running to the part of the bank with the tallest grasses, he squatted near the river's edge. He grabbed fistfuls of leaves, dipped them in the water, and scrubbed his body furiously, desperate to wash away his scent, including Wolverine's, on his skin. He scoured between his legs, removing the traces of his defilement.

In his panic, Remy did not know that blood was dripping from his battered rectum and into the water at his feet. Neither did he remember that there were other predators within the vicinity, one of which was floating toward him, green reptilian eyes focused on its unwary prey.

Suddenly, there was a violent splash, sending water spraying violently, drenching the Cajun. Remy's surprised jerk backward gained him a few precious inches away from the snapping jaws of the alligator that lunged out of the river. However, the trailing pants leg of his makeshift loincloth got caught on the gator's teeth, and it was this piece of clothing which the reptile was using to drag the Cajun toward it.

Remy grabbed at the trapped garment, trying desperately to tug himself free, but the pants leg held firm. A belated thought of charging the garment came to him. Before he could do so, however, the alligator yanked hard, so that Remy fell on his back. At that instant, another gator appeared at his left, its mouth agape and ready to crush his head in its powerful jaws. Helpless, all the Cajun could do was to close his eyes and wait for the inevitable.

**SNIKT! SHUNK!**

Those two sounds caused Remy to raise his head, so that he beheld a grinning Wolverine squatting on top of the gator's body, his sharp claws buried deep into the reptile's cranium. With a furious roar, he dove for the second alligator, slicing through the trapped pants leg and freeing the Cajun. As a stunned Remy watched, man and reptile tumbled into the river.

"Wolverine!" Remy stumbled toward the bank, staring at the spot where the feral and the alligator disappeared.

Then, a short distance off, water exploded upwards. In the heart of that churning maelstrom of water, murk and foam, Wolverine was thrusting again and again with his right hand claws at the gator to which he clung tightly like a leech. The beast was rolling in the water in an attempt to dislodge the tenacious feral.

As the Cajun looked on, horrified, other alligators emerged from the brush at the opposite bank and slid into the water, drawn toward the fierce battle and the scent of blood. Wolverine's enraged roar became a scream of pain as a gator clamped down on his right arm. Trapped, the other reptiles attacked, so that all Remy could see were flailing tails, rolling scaly bellies, and blood. So much blood...

"NON! WOLVERINE!" Remy stood up and searched his immediate surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon. There, partially buried in the mud was a rusty iron bar.

The Cajun did not think twice; in fact, he did not think at all. Taking a running leap from the bank, he charged the iron bar, forgetting that he was not in complete control of his power. With a savage cry, he plunged the bar in the heart of the violence. Remy only wanted a small blast to scare away the gators. Instead, a devastating explosion followed, sending bloody gator meat and severed limbs flying through the air. There was one distinctly human shape among them, and Remy used the moment created by the blast to propel him toward Wolverine.

Laying the older man gently on the ground, Remy found himself breaking into tears, seeing the pitiful state of the man who had saved his life yet again.

Large chunks of flesh had been torn from Wolverine's sundry body parts by the gators and the explosion. The metal skeleton had prevented the left leg from being completely severed. Only a strand or two of muscle fiber and a fraying tendon connected the leg to the raw meat of the thigh. The other extremities had gaping bite marks.

What broke the Cajun's heart was Wolverine's face. An alligator must have seized his head in its powerful jaws and have ripped most of the flesh off. His lips were all but gone, leaving exposed glistening gums and white teeth. Agolden eye was hanging from its socket via a pale nerve. It was this eyeball that Remy held tenderly and put back in its socket.

"Desole, desole!" Remy cried again and again, at a loss on which injury to tend to first.

How could the man still be alive after being chewed to bits by alligators?

Then, a semblance of a smile formed on Wolverine's ravaged face, made all the more heartbreakingly vulnerable by his gruesome injuries.

Cupping Wolverine's face, Remy whispered, "Pourquoi, Monsieur? Why? Why do ya do dese things? What do ya want from me? Quoi?"

But no answer was forthcoming as Wolverine fell limp in his hands.

Fear that the feral may be dying -- or worse, was already dead -- almost prompted the Cajun to shake the man awake in spite of his injuries. What stopped him was a voice he thought he would never hear again.

"REMY!"

Remy heaved a relieved sigh at the sight of Tante Mattie standing in a barge with a large oar in hand.

"Oh, Tante! Merci Dieu! You're de last person I expected to see, but de one whose help I need de most!"

The diminutive Black woman gave a stalking alligator a whack on the head with her oar before disembarking from the barge and trundling over to her precious ward.

Mattie's eyebrows formed one bushy arch as she peered darkly at Remy. "What happened to ya, chile? Why, you're practically nekkid!" Her dark eyes focused on the Cajun's backside like a red hot beam. "Is dat...blood?"

Remy was about to give his guardian a feeble reassurance when Mattie did a most unexpected and shocking thing. She gave the top of Wolverine's head a fierce wallop, which caused the feral to let out a soft whimper and for his eye to pop out of its socket again.

"TANTE!" the Cajun exclaimed, shocked at the healer's behavior.

Blatantly ignoring Remy, Mattie rounded on Wolverine, who had the misfortune of waking up and listening dazedly to her tirade.

"Didn't I tell ya to protect my honey chile?" Mattie wagged a scolding finger at the very addled feral. "Who toldja to stick dat pecker o' yours where it don' belong, eh?" Before Remy could stop her, Mattie flicked her finger at the eyeball, sending it swinging to and fro from a cheekbone like a clock pendulum. "Hmph! Pervert!"

"Tante, ya know him?" Remy asked, dumbstruck.

"Yeah, I know him. Found de couillon shiverin' in de alley behind my shop. He be lookin' for ya, you know. De homme traveled a long way."

"An' ya didn' even bother to tell me?"

"Ya had a lot of things on your mind on account o' de weddin'. I tol' him to take care o' ya. I should've known not to trust dis connard."

Tante Mattie was about to deck Wolverine again when Remy begged her, "S'il vous plait, Tante. De poor man has been through hell. An', despite what he did to me, he did as ya told him to. He protected me. Tante, you must help him."

"Hmph! He don' need any help," Tante Mattie snorted, watching as Remy gingerly replaced the feral's eyeball in its socket. "Mais, I agree dat ya can't stay here. We might as well take him to your house in de Garden District."

"Mais, what about de Guilds? My exile?"

"Dey shall not touch ya, Remy. Not while you're with me. Now, come! Let us bring dis...hmph...to your house. I'll explain everythin' dere."

"D'accord, Tante, an' merci," Remy said in sincerest gratitude.

"Truth be tol', I don' know why ya want to save dis couillon after what he did to ya. Besides, its fools like him who don' die easily. Mais, what can I do if ya want to help him, undeservin' though he is?"

"An' I could only thank ya for your understandin', Tante."

Between the two of them, they somehow managed to lift a very heavy Wolverine into the barge. Remy offered to take the oar from Tante Mattie, but his guardian waved for him to sit down. When the two men were finally settled, she proceeded to row up the smaller streams, all the while cursing the feral with every foul name she could think of.

Noticing Wolverine's tear-filled eyes upon him, Remy leaned over and whispered reassuringly, "Don' listen to her, cher. She don' mean what she's sayin'."

"I do too!" Mattie retorted indignantly.

Hearing the fearful whimper that came out of the feral's lips, Remy gave him a tender smile.

"Don' worry. I'll take care o' ya."

 

 

Remy's home in the Garden District was a picturesque colonial-style two-storey mansion that Tante Mattie had been taking care of for him. Because of the nature of his work with the Thieves Guild, he would only stay at the mansion for a period of a few days, so that there was always that sense of newness to the place whenever he eventually dropped in. It had been his plan to bring Belle here immediately after their wedding and enjoy the large four-poster bed that he had specifically purchased for his and his bride's marital enjoyment. Never did he imagine that instead of a bride, he would be bringing a wounded feral into his home.

The Cajun informed Mattie that Wolverine should be taking the bed, but his Tante vehemently argued against it. Seeing that her ward wanted to see to the man's well-being himself, she brought up a folding cot instead, which she set up beside Remy's bed. At Remy's request, she also brought in a large basin, a bucket of water, soap, and some towels.

Dressed only in a long shirt, Remy allowed his guardian to stitch up the tears in his ass first and apply soothing ointment. When the voudoun mambo was done, they turned to the feral.

Seeing just how filthy her ward's patient was, Mattie remarked, "Maybe I should just dump de water on him."

"Tante..."

Mattie waved her hands in surrender. "D'accord, d'accord. I won' say anymore." Noticing the evil glare that Wolverine was throwing at her, Mattie placed a face towel over his face.

As Remy apologetically plucked the towel from Wolverine's face, Mattie said a word that caught his attention. "Reprieve?" he inquired.

Tante Mattie glowered. "Ya weren't listenin' to me. I said you've been given a reprieve. Seein' dat your pere is at a loss on what to do, considerin' everythin' dat's happened, I took it upon myself to demand dat you be given a fair trial by both de Thieves an' Assassins Guilds in two weeks time. I am de voudoun mambo o' N'Awlins after all. De least dey could do is accord me de same respect dat dey give to Candra an' de Tithe Collector."

"Mais, de judgment dey gave to me was fair enough. I deserved to be exiled, after what I did to Julien..."

"It is specifically because o' Julien dat I requested a reprieve. My sources tell me dat de connard is still alive. All we need to do is to prove it, an' I will demand dat de Guilds repeal deir sentence o' exile."

"Julien? Alive? Mais..." Remy exhaled in realization. "De Elixir!"

Mattie nodded grimly. "Oui. Mais, as I said, we have to prove dat he is alive."

"An' knowin' de Assassins Guild, dey must have hidden him to ensure dat my sentence will stick." There was something that Remy had to know. "What about Belle? Is she well?"

"I haven' spoken to her since de wedding," his guardian replied with a sad shake of her head. "Marius Boudreaux has expressly forbidden her from having any contact with anyone in de Thieves Guild."

Hearing this, Remy bit down on his lower lip guiltily. All this grief and sorrow...it was not what he wanted to give to Belle on their wedding day. Damn Julien Boudreaux! Damn his own accursed pride!

The Cajun was drawn out of his miserable thoughts by a comforting squeeze of his hand.

Smiling to conceal his sadness, Remy turned to his patient and began to reassure him, "I'm all right, Monsieur. Ya don' have to worry abou'..." His jaw dropped in surprise. "Mon Dieu!"

Right before his eyes, Remy could see Wolverine's face healing. Torn muscles and tendons lengthened and connected. Severed blood vessels branched out to join with other arteries and veins. Remy pulled back the blanket and saw that the other injuries were healing as well. In some areas though, the healing process was impeded by dirt and burned tissue.

Mattie, noticing her ward's fascination, went over to his side. Seeing what was happening, she remarked flippantly, "I tol' ya dis couillon is hard to kill." Her eyes grew round as they settled on a particular spot on the feral's anatomy. "Heavens!" she exclaimed to Wolverine as she pressed a hand over her ample bosom. "How'd dem gators miss dat big thing? I got me a pair o' good garden shears downstairs. I might as well capon ya, so ya won' be a menace to my Remy." Leaning close to the increasingly alarmed feral, Mattie gave him a most evil look. "Or maybe I should just get my voodoo doll and stick it with my knitting needles."

An uncharacteristic squeak of fright was drawn from Wolverine as he cupped his privates and cringed away from the cackling, demented Black woman, who was jabbing imaginary pins in the air.

With a long suffering sigh, Remy declared, "Tante, stop terrorizin' de poor homme."

It was the Cajun's turn to let out a shocked squeal when Mattie whirled him around and lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his battered rump. "An' what do ya call dis den, eh?"

Seeing how distraught Wolverine was becoming at having his vile transgression revealed, Remy yanked his shirt back down and ushered Mattie toward the door, "He knows, Tante, he knows. Ya don' have to shove my ass right in his face."

"I can' leave ya alone with dat connard!"

"Mais, you're of no use to me like dis." Remy urged his guardian out into the hallway. "S'il vous plait, Tante, if you would be so kind as to prepare a light meal for me an' my guest, I'll be eatin' here with him."

"D'accord. I'll cook ya your favorite gumbo an' den run over to de grocer's for some dog food."

"Tante..."

"D'accord, d'accord! I'll make his gumbo extra spicy!" As the Cajun slowly closed the door, Tante Mattie could not resist giving the feral another warning. "Behave yourself, homme, or else...SSHK!" She raised her right index finger and made a slashing gesture at its base with her left index finger.

As Remy clicked the door shut, he never saw the enigmatic smile that curled up Mattie's lips. With a weary smile, he approached the cot where his patient lay. "Well, it's just you an' me."

 

 

_Wolverine's mind was a-whirl with confusion. Because his brain processes were locked in its primal state, he could not bring his thoughts to focus upon the rapid turn of events. _

_Hours earlier, he had been in a blind fury at discovering that his mate had dared to escape, and he had intended to put the younger man in his place. But then, upon finding Remy about to be eaten by alligators, anger was replaced by worry and overprotectiveness, and he threw himself at the ravenous reptiles without any thought to his well-being. Only Remy's safety mattered to him. His berserker fury, however, gave way to agony as the gators converged upon him, tearing hunks of flesh from his limbs and razor sharp teeth clamping on his head. The explosion that followed and the blasting and burning of his body were tender mercies in comparison to being eaten alive._

_Or so he thought. He would rather face a thousand alligators than one furious Tante Mattie who was determined to emasculate him._

_Wolverine's eyes roamed all over his elegant surroundings. What was he doing here? This beautiful mansion was no place for him. His eyes kept going back to the windows. Perhaps he could sneak outside before the nagging Black woman could make good on her threat..._

_"Well, it's just you an' me."_

_It was Remy's voice and the tired smile on his handsome face that put a stop to the feral's plan. Quietly, he watched as the Cajun picked up a washcloth and dipped it in the basin._

_"Let's get ya cleaned up," Remy said softly. "I'm afraid I'll have to do some debriding, so dat your injuries will heal faster. Just tell me if it hurts."_

_Wolverine, however, did not utter a sound as the younger man cleaned his body. Even snips of surgical scissors to remove dead tissue did not warrant pained whimpers. Remy's gentle touch was like a soothing balm upon his battered body and tormented soul. There was only one thing that bothered him though. The healing flesh of his left cheek was driving him crazy with its damned itchiness. He was aching to scratch his face, but he dared not move lest the Cajun stop his ministrations. Instead, he twisted his face this way and that, hoping to relieve the itch._

_Remy, who was putting aside the basin and the towels, noticed his discomfort. "Why're ya makin' faces?" Seeing how he tended to twitch his face to the left, the Cajun asked, "Your face itchy or somethin'?"_

_Drawing the blanket over the feral's naked form, Remy pulled up a chair and sat down. Reaching over with his right hand, he began scratching Wolverine's cheek lightly. The feral sighed in relief that the Cajun had found the itchy spot._

_"Does dat feel better?" Remy inquired, but the blissful expression on the older man's face was answer enough._

_As the feral looked on, Remy crossed his left arm over the mattress and laid his chin on top of it. It was a charming posture that Wolverine found endearing._

_"Je suis desole, Monsieur. I'm sorry."_

He's sorry? For what?

_As if reading his mind, the Cajun answered, "If I hadn't run away, ya wouldn't have gotten hurt. An' I shouldn't 'ave blown up dem gators de way I did. I have no control over my chargin' powers. I ended up blowin' ya up too. Desole."_

_A coherent part of Wolverine's mind wondered why the younger man should be apologizing to him. It was he who had inflicted the greater hurt upon the Cajun. He could not blame him for wanting to escape._

_"I don' know if ya understand what I'm sayin'," Remy continued. "Dere are so many things that I want to ask ya. Like...how did ya end up here in N'Awlins? De last time I saw ya was in _ _Canada_ _." He produced the dog tags and placed them on the feral's chest. "Did...did ya follow me all de way here? Pourquoi? What do ya want from me? Are...are ya goin'..."_

_Wolverine sensed the unspoken fear in the younger man. Those beautiful red on black eyes eloquently spoke their dread of further defilement. He struggled to dredge up the words from the tumult that was his mind that would allay the Cajun's fears. _

_His voice gruff with effort and emotion, he stammered, "Remy...hurt...never...no...more."_

_"Mais...how would I know dat you would keep your word? Dat I could trust ya?"_

_Wolverine clutched the dog tags and vial inside his fist and thumped his chest hard. Tears watered his golden eyes as he said, "If hurt...Remy...kill me. Take...my head."_

_There. He had told the Cajun what should be done to end his miserable existence._

_But Remy shook his head. "Non, I don' desire to take your life. All I want is your solemn promise dat you would never do dat to me again. Do ya promise?"_

_"Promise."_

_That simple word was enough, and the younger man relaxed slightly. "Ya already know my name, but I don' know what to call ya. I don' want to call ya Weapon X. Wolverine sounds scary too. Do ya remember your real name?"?_

_His name... It was just at the tip of his tongue, only to have it retreat once more into his subconscious._

_"How about I just call ya 'Wolvie'?"_

_Wolverine stuck his tongue out at that name. Only dogs were given names like that._

_Remy grimaced at the sight of that wagging tongue. "Don' do dat! Until ya remember your name, Wolvie's enough for ya! Ya look like a mutt anyway!" He slapped Wolverine's hand away, which was about to scratch his injured face. "An' don't ya dare scratch your face with dose dirty fingers! You'll only make your injuries worse!" With an exasperated 'harrumph', he said, "Let me do it."_

_As Remy proceeded to scratch his cheek once more, Wolverine could no longer resist. Turning his head, he nuzzled against the surprised Cajun's palm and bestowed sweet little kisses upon it._

_"OY! WHATCHA DOIN', EH?"_

_Panicking at the sight of the noisy Black woman, who laid the tray with two bowls of gumbo on the table with a clatter, Wolverine tried to cover up his transgression the only way he knew how...by clamping Remy's hand in his mouth and smacking it between his lips like a chew toy._

_Wolverine raised innocent golden eyes to Tante Mattie, who now stood at the head end of the cot glaring down at him with arms akimbo._

_"Tante..."Remy began weakly, unable to withdraw his hand which was now slimy with drool. "He ain't doin' no harm."_

_But Mattie, nevertheless, decked the feral at the top of the head. Although seeing stars as a result of that blow, Wolverine refused to let go of the Cajun's hand._

_"He's a canaille, dat's what!" Mattie snorted in disgust. "I'm callin' de doctor right now to give ya two rabies shots!"_

_"Dere ain't no need for dat, Tante," Remy feebly argued, but Mattie had already stormed out the door and slammed it shut behind her. Glowering at the still smacking feral, he said, "Now look what ya did! Ya got me into trouble too!"_

_Wolverine, however, couldn't care less. Heaven, for him, was being with the young man he had been searching for for so long, and the sumptuous bonus of being able to kiss and suckle upon his long, graceful fingers. It would take more than threats of injections to scare the great Weapon X._

 

 

It was early evening when Remy was roused from his pleasant dream by a numbing ache in his right upper arm. He gingerly rubbed the spot where Tante Mattie had given him the shot.

The Cajun thought the voudoun priestess was just kidding about the injection. So, great was his shock when Tante Mattie returned an hour later with vials and syringes.

Mattie had told him that his shots contained antibiotics on account of what Wolverine had done to him.

Turning to a blinking feral with an evil grin on her face and what could possibly be the largest syringe that Remy had ever seen in his life, Mattie cackled, "I got de rabies vaccine right here for ya, homme."

Having heard how painful rabies shots were, Remy had no reason to doubt her words. Plunging the needle on the only uninjured spot on the feral's body, namely his hairy butt, Wolverine let out an agonized howl, fell off the cot, and hid underneath it. It took a lot of wheedling and cajoling to coax a sobbing and sniffing Wolverine to come out of his hiding place.

Gentle words and a bowl of gumbo, however, were not enough to calm the older man down.

As he gazed down at the sleeping feral, Remy remembered his dream, which was the continuation of his dream from earlier this morning.

"Who is he to you, mon fils?" his mother had asked him once again.

In his dream, Wolverine had not actually bitten his hand, but was smacking his lips and suckling upon his fingers with lusty gusto. Exactly the same thing he was doing now as he lay in restless slumber. Gross as it was, Remy just didn't have the heart to free his right hand from the feral's lips.

With his free left hand, Remy brushed away the teardrop at the corner of Wolverine's eye.

"He is mon ami, Maman," Remy whispered, smiling. "A friend."

 

 

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**TRANSLATION**

1\. Mais pourquoi? = But why?

2\. Quoi? = What?

3\. Merci Dieu! = Thank God!

4\. Couillon = Idiot, fool

5\. Connard = Bastard

6\. S'il vous plait = Please

7\. D'accord = Okay

8\. Mon Dieu! = My God!

9\. Canaille = Lowlife

 

 


End file.
